


The Pack Survives

by JayofOlympus



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, I will never call Jon Aegon, Season/Series 08 Spoilers, Stark family feels, Theon is a Stark in all the ways it matters, arya is a badass, it's not really intended to be either, this could be read as throbb or theonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayofOlympus/pseuds/JayofOlympus
Summary: "There may be no way out, but Theon cannot stand to do nothing, not again, not this time. His last thought is of his sister. Would anyone be left by dawn to tell her that he was gone? Would she know that he had not died a coward?He wakes in pain."There are conversations to be had between the Starks when they survive the Long Night.





	The Pack Survives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jazzren92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzren92/gifts).



> Very belated birthday present for my sister, jazzren92. I was supposed to write her an IronStrange fic back in February, but she's getting this instead.
> 
> Theon deserved better than what he got, and I was frustrated by the way they ended his story. I also think he should have gotten to have a conversation with Arya too. So, I wrote a little something where he gets to be happy.  
> Please note, I'm ignoring everything that happens after 8.03, both in this fic and in my life. I refuse to acknowledge it.

The Night King is terrifying in a way that Theon hadn’t expected, but Bran is behind him, calling him a _good man_ , and there is nothing that Theon can do that will make a true difference. They’re going to die here in the godswood, surrounded by dead Ironborn. Something in him snaps then. There may be no way out, but Theon cannot stand to do nothing, not again, not this time.  
The Night King and his men did nothing as Theon charged at them. Not a single movement, until the last second, and then a burst of pain. Theon fell with the shaft of his own spear protruding from his gut, and cursed every god he could name for letting such a horror as the army of the dead exist.  
He was ignored as he fell, and the Night King stepped over him, toward Bran. Toward the brother Theon had so desperately tried to protect. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was the Night King standing before Bran, and then nothing.  
His last thought is of his sister. Would anyone be left by dawn to tell her that he was gone? Would she know that he had not died a coward?

***

Theon woke in pain. Someone was humming gently nearby, and his first, frantic thought was that the gods had taken pity on him, and allowed him to go to his mother, but the tune was all wrong. It was not a song he could recall from his childhood on the Iron Islands, but one he’d heard sung to the younger Stark children in Winterfell.  
He must have shifted as the humming was cut off with a sharp gasp.  
“Lie still, I will send for the Maester,” a comfortingly familiar voice said, but Theon fell again to unconsciousness before the footfalls sounded.

***

He was more aware of his circumstances the next time he woke. He had, by some miracle or mistake of the gods, survived both the battle and his injuries. He was hesitant to open his eyes and discover who had not been so lucky.  
Sansa’s delighted smile was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, and Theon’s breath came a little easier at the sight.  
“The Maester wasn’t sure you’d ever wake,” she whispered, stroking his hair gently. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and it was clear she hadn’t slept in some time.  
Panic hit him then. Had the rest made it? Where were Jon and Arya? Who was left? He would not be able to live with himself if he had survived a blow from the Night King, only for Bran to die but a few feet away from him.  
“Bran…?” he croaked, unable to force his tongue to form a full sentence.  
Sansa shushed him, taking his mangled hand in hers.  
“Bran is unharmed,” she assured him. “He’s with Jon at the moment, and Arya is likely with them. We won. The Night King is dead, and our family has survived.”  
Theon could hardly believe that such a thing was possible, but he nodded slowly at her words.  
“It was a brave thing you did, Theon,” she said, still clutching his hand tight in her own. “Unbearably stupid, but brave all the same. You must give me your word that you won’t do it again.”  
That was not a difficult request to agree to. He was in no rush to end his life, and with the Night King dead, he would not need to do such a thing again.  
“I swear, Lady Sansa,” he said, meeting her eyes. She looked so much like Robb in that moment, and for once, the thought did not hurt.

***

He dreamt of Robb and Ned that night. At first it seemed to be a memory, one of the times Ned had taken the boys hunting, but when Theon turned, Jon stood a ways off in the clearing they had found, his back to them, a man grown and wearing the armour he’d donned for the battle against the dead.  
Theon loosed an arrow, flying true in spite of his missing fingers.  
“Well done, lad,” Ned said, pride shining in his eyes as the arrow found its mark; not the hare that Theon had been expecting, but a wight.  
A hand clapped Theon’s shoulder, and he turned to see Robb standing by his side, smiling, and looking carefree in a way he hadn’t since before Bran had fallen from the broken tower.  
“I’m sorry,” Theon whispered. He had to say it; even though it was just a dream, he had to make sure Robb knew that he would take it all back if he could.  
“You paid for your sins,” Robb said, one hand still resting on Theon’s shoulder. “You paid more than any man should, and still you placed yourself between Bran and Death. You did not have to come back to Winterfell, but you could not let your family face this without you. You are a good man, Theon.”  
To hear those words in Robb’s voice, with Robb’s eyes holding his gaze, was freeing, though he knew that it was only a dream. It felt like the final absolution that he had needed for so long, but had never believed he deserved.  
Ned turned to them, looking relaxed in a way that Theon was not sure he’d ever seen. He wore a small smile, though it turned a little sad when he looked past Theon and Robb to Jon.  
“You’ve become a good man, Theon,” he said, full of pride. “You came to Winterfell’s aid, to Jon’s aid, and Sansa, and Bran, and Arya, though you thought it would end in death. You’re stronger and braver than you thought you could be.”  
There was silence for a moment as Theon digested their words. For so long he’d thought himself a coward, but his fear had not stopped him from freeing Yara, nor had it kept him from Winterfell. His family had needed him, and so he had done what he must to aid them.  
“Dawn has come,” Jon’s voice said, though his image across the clearing did not move. “We were able to see the night through.”  
The howling of wolves in the distance broke the quiet stillness of the scene, and Robb turned toward the trees with a wide smile.  
“Promise me you will remember these words,” Ned said, his intense stare catching Theon’s gaze. “The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

***

It was dark and silent when Theon woke again, but he could feel eyes on him; a tingling itch along his spine, warning him that he was not alone.  
At the end of his bed, a shadow moved, and Arya stepped into the meagre moonlight supplied by the lone window. Her jaw was tight, and he could see horrible bruising across her temple and cheek. There was something strange in her eyes, as though she’d seen things that no person could understand.  
“Arya,” he croaked, shifting to sit up a little, though it pained him to do so.  
“Don’t move,” she snapped, pushing on his shoulder with one tiny hand. She was still so terribly small after all this time, but there was weight to her now, like the years rested on her shoulders. Her fingers were calloused, a familiar pattern that spoke of swordsmanship and survival. “You’ll only open your wounds.”  
Theon settled with a nod.  
“There wasn’t much time for us to speak before the battle,” Arya said, hands folded behind her back, staring at him with her wide eyes that held so many secrets these days. “I wanted to thank you, for coming back. It was brave of you. Noble. My father would have approved. Though I know you didn’t do it for him. Winterfell is your home too; you wanted to defend it.”  
Theon nodded slowly. Everyone spoke of redemption and guilt, and while that was partly true, he hadn’t come to Winterfell out of _guilt_. He had come to fight by his family, and die with them if it came to that.  
“Sansa says it was you who killed the Night King,” he said, eyes drawn again to the dark bruises on her solemn face. “They’ll sing songs about you.”  
Arya snorted, as unladylike as she’d been at one and ten, running about after the boys, getting underfoot. “I think they’ve already started,” she said. “I don’t care about the songs. I don’t want them. I just want my family safe, and Queen Cersei dead.”  
Theon wished she would sit down, or even just relax her stance. She stood like a soldier. It was unnerving.  
“You saved us all; they’ll sing the songs whether you want them or not,” he said. “As for Cersei and safety… I imagine you’ll go with Jon and Queen Daenerys to King’s Landing?” His hands twisted in his bedcovers at the thought of Arya marching on the Red Keep with the Dragon Queen’s army, facing battle so far from home.  
Arya nodded sharply.  
“My uncle, Euron, will be there,” Theon told her.  
“When I’ve killed Cersei, I’ll kill him too,” Arya said. “For you. Then I’ll be able to come home. Our family will be safe.”  
Theon could feel the tears spilling over his cheeks at her words.  
“I think… I think you deserve the songs they’re singing,” he told her. “You’re every bit as strong and brave as the warrior queens from the old stories.”

***

Two days before Jon and Arya were set to march South with the Dragon Queen’s army, the Starks gathered in Theon’s room. They spent a while reminiscing over their younger years, and noting the strange twists of fate that had brought them all to this point, together and alive, before Jon finally announced his reason for bringing them all together when he did.  
“What I am about to say must not leave this room,” he said. “It is information that could destroy lives.”  
He compelled them each to give their word that they would not speak of it before he continued.  
“Bran had a vision, and Sam later confirmed it from a book he’d read; some Maester’s journal or such. Ned Stark was not my father. I am the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, lawfully married in secret, making me their trueborn son, and Rhaegar’s heir. I was given the name Aegon at birth, before my mother’s death, and she swore our fa… she swore Ned to secrecy, to keep me from King Robert’s wrath.”  
Theon glanced to Sansa, sitting delicately at the end of his bed. She seemed unshaken, but that meant little, these days. The way she held herself, deathly still and never taking her eyes off Jon, showed that she was just as shocked as he was. Arya was frowning, but silent. Theon could not read her expressions any more.  
“Ned Stark was still your father,” he finally said, meeting Jon’s eyes. “He raised you to be the man you are.”  
“You are our brother,” Sansa said, her voice tight. “Having Targaryen blood does not change that. Just as Theon is our brother; we were raised together.” She reached over to take Theon’s hand in hers, squeezing it gently with a small smile.  
“Dragon blood doesn’t mean you’re not still a wolf,” Arya added. “We’re a pack, and nothing changes that.”  
Bran nodded from where he sat by the fire, somehow more present than he had been before the battle. “Sam has kept the book hidden away. The information will remain, if it is ever needed.”  
“We will keep this secret, if it is what you wish,” Sansa said, piercing Jon with her stare. “Just be sure that it is for the right reasons.”  
Jon sighed heavily and stepped toward her, placing one hand on her shoulder. “I do not want the responsibilities that come with the name Aegon Targaryen,” he said. “I have never wanted any of this. I never wanted to lead anyone, let alone have a name that would have some calling for me to sit on the Iron Throne.”  
Sansa shook her head, and stood, Theon’s hand slipping from hers, and Jon’s hand falling from her shoulder. “The problem you have with power is that you’ve been told for as long as you remember that you don’t deserve it; that’s a very different thing from wanting it.”  
With that, she swept out of the room, Arya close on her heels.  
Bran broke the silence. “She’s right, you know. You’ve never wanted power because you always thought wanting it was pointless. You’re a proven leader now; you cannot pretend that you do not deserve it, or would not be well suited to it.”  
Jon tried to interrupt, but Bran simply held up a hand to stop him.  
“I am not telling you to take the Iron Throne,” Bran said. “But think on Sansa’s words.”  
He left Jon and Theon alone then, without another word.  
“I don’t know what they want from me,” Jon confessed with a sigh, sitting down heavily on the end of Theon’s bed.  
“I think… they want you to come home,” Theon said, fingers twisting in his bedcovers. “Sansa’s right to worry; you’re marching South soon, and Starks do not do well in the South. Southern-born or not; Targaryen blood or not; you’re a Stark. Be careful down there, and come home.”  
Jon nodded silently.  
“I will try,” he swore.  
“You should watch Arya closely too,” Theon said, thinking of the look in her eyes when she’d told him that she intended to go to Kings Landing to kill Queen Cersei. “I worry she’s willing to die for her revenge.”  
“I worry that too,” Jon agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Jazz. Sorry it's so late, but at least I wrote something.


End file.
